


Taking Your Love With Me Wherever I Go

by nostalgicatsea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Camaraderie, Grief/Mourning, Hope, M/M, Moving On, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 06:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30068277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgicatsea/pseuds/nostalgicatsea
Summary: Being with Sam felt like the sun breaking through. Rhodey knew it was only a temporary reprieve, that it wouldn't fix everything because that wasn’t how grief worked. But for now, all he wanted was for the moment to stretch to infinity, to be at the diner they had always gone to back in the old days, talking over breakfast like they always did.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2020





	Taking Your Love With Me Wherever I Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betheflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betheflame/gifts).



> Thanks to Infinity War, I unexpectedly found myself shipping Rhodey/Sam, and thanks to flame, I was able to write a story for the ship. Flame asked for post-Endgame Rhodey/Sam which was exciting for me. I think there's a lot for Rhodey and Sam to talk about because of their shared/similar grief and uncertainty about their place in the world moving forward, and this is just the beginning of that conversation and their evolving relationship.

It took Rhodey by surprise just how happy it made him to see Sam, to know that he was capable of still feeling like this after everything. His grief was expansive, making him swollen with it, like all the tears he hadn’t shed transformed the whole of his body into his own internal reservoir. His body wasn’t meant to hold so much. It wasn’t built to be a dam even if he had to hold himself together, for his own sake as well as everyone’s, and his limbs and face ached from the bloat. Grief had pushed everything else out of him, and what little managed to grow in the tiny gaps left in between, if it survived, was stunted and crooked. 

Some days, Rhodey thought it was only a matter of time before the walls caved in and everything spilled out so he collapsed into a boneless, liquid mess. Other days, the pain was so pressurized, he imagined the end coming in violence instead of surrender, an outward burst that would launch him every which way. The miserable suffocation that came with being alone in a dead apartment and restlessness when he was with others and wanted to be alone dialed up a hundred times in force, bottled up until the bottle himself turned into an IED.

The only way he could keep it at bay was if he made himself too busy or too hungry or too exhausted to think. Anything that kept him from remembering who he was. Anything that made him less James Rhodes and more a creature who couldn’t think beyond basic needs. 

Today, his trick was skipping breakfast and powering through all the paperwork and morning work calls before Sunday brunch with Sam. If he wasn't hungry, he would have called it quits minutes after he pulled into the parking lot, wanting to speed back home and bury himself under heavy blankets, willing himself to sleep the whole day. Sleep was hard and unpredictable. He either couldn’t go to bed at all, lying in bed, desperately wishing he could turn his brain off, or he would sleep easily and for too long, way past indulgence and into a territory of concern when he had nothing to do.

But he was hungry and he was here now, and he was a rational enough man that he knew it would be stupid to go home after coming all this way. He made sure to arrive at the diner precisely ten minutes before the agreed-upon time and listened to the news on the radio absentmindedly as he scrolled through his phone to check what else he could get done while keeping an eye on the door for a familiar face. Five minutes after he parked and before they were supposed to meet, he got out and stood by the door. He hadn’t wanted to wait too long. It didn’t matter where. Outside, he would feel awkward in his body, standing there uselessly while people gave him polite smiles as they reached for the door handle. Inside, he would feel exposed, waiting on his own in a booth and feeling both as though everyone’s eyes were on him and as if he were invisible, cut off from the rest of the world.

But there Sam was, out of nowhere, what felt like seconds after he reached the entrance, and it was so good to see him, so good to have Sam back, alive and whole in front of him, that it eclipsed everything in the moment. The sun was in Rhodey’s eyes, but Sam's gap-toothed smile was equally radiant and blinding. He missed Sam, but he hadn’t realized how much, it seemed, until he got Sam back again.

For the first time since the battle, he felt like himself. Not James Rhodes, Tony Stark’s surviving best friend or James Rhodes, leader of the half-defunct Avengers or James Rhodes, Morgan Stark’s grief-stricken godfather. But James Rhodes, the guy who liked Sam Wilson and nothing more.

“This place is still standing, huh?” Sam asked as he opened the door and they made their way in.

“Don’t let Anna hear you say that. She’ll go on about how nothing’s beat her yet.”

“She has a point. She’s like a hundred years old, and this place is almost as old as her.”

Sam scanned the diner from floor to ceiling and everyone from the customers to the servers. The easy, fond smile stayed in place as he took in the familiar sights, and that was why Rhodey had chosen the diner as the meeting point. It made sense. Sam didn’t know what was still around five years and a catastrophe later, and meeting at one of their places would be too intimate for a reunion.

But the bigger reason was that this was where they had gone after training runs, back in the halcyon days when everything was new and Rhodey finally got to experience the high of being an Avenger and having that team that Tony seemed to thrive off of.

He cut that thought down before it branched into a treacherous, winding path he would get lost on and backed away from it to return to Sam, who had located their old booth. They slid into their seats, facing each other for the first time since the funeral, and all the years peeled away as Sam pulled in the container with the sugar packets and started running his thumb across them like he used to do every time they came here. 

Once, Rhodey had placed his hand over Sam’s when he did that, not because he was bothered by the movement or sound, but because he wanted to find out what would happen if he did. Sam had let him, keeping his hand there until Rhodey let go, and then just as casually and without any change in expression, had done the same in reverse, placing his hand on top of Rhodey’s on Rhodey’s thigh under the table as Steve continued talking across from them, none the wiser.

“You look good,” Sam said and then, before Rhodey could refute him because he knew he looked as shit as he felt lately and it had been half a decade, added, “Not a day older than ninety.”

His laugh took him by surprise. It had been so long since he laughed that he couldn’t even remember the last time he did. Sam looked delighted, like he won a prize, and Rhodey rolled his eyes.

“I almost forgot how annoying you could be. Get the blueberry pancakes,” he advised as a waitress came to their table. “Rachel updated the recipe and it’s even better than before.”

“Pretty sure that’s impossible, but I’ll take your word for it. I’ll have that and some orange juice. And for him, one coffee, no sugar, and…chicken and waffles? Or spinach omelette?” Sam tried to guess.

“Let’s do both and split it. I didn’t get to eat anything today.” 

Sam thanked the waitress, watching her go with their order and menus, before he asked the question that Rhodey knew had been coming since the beginning. 

“How you doing, really?”

Somehow it didn’t bother him, the way it did when other people asked. Sam studied him as if he wanted to know and nothing beyond that, no desire to confirm his assumption that Rhodey was falling apart nor eagerness to offer unsolicited advice or attempt to fix him. No look of pity. 

Just checking to see if Rhodey was okay the way he did when he had shown up without warning at the compound years ago with the others. It was the first thing he had asked even though Rhodey was sure Vision kept the prodigal Avengers updated: how Rhodey was holding up and how his legs were working for him. It was Sam through and through. Rhodey had never met anyone like Sam, and it made him wonder if anyone cared for the carer. If anyone checked in on Sam the way he did with everybody. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Rhodey asked as the thought crossed his mind. “You’re the one who rose from the dead and missed five years.”

Sam shrugged, and the nonchalance didn’t seem feigned. “Wasn’t hard for me like it was on you guys. I didn’t even notice I was gone. I only remember the feeling of disappearing and then suddenly, I was standing in the field and it was like I imagined everything.”

“Except there were no aliens and everything was cleaned up.” Five years meant the ground had time to recover from the battle that upturned it, and there weren’t that many bodies to deal with, when all was said and done.

“Yeah, just like a dream until Strange explained what happened. Not as bad as having to deal with the aftermath.”

“No, maybe not,” Rhodey agreed. “Still, must be strange, wondering who survived and who disappeared like you did. Coming back to all this.”

Sam came back ready to fight alongside Steve and Natasha and the rest of them—had been in the middle of doing that when he died—to find Natasha dead and Steve deciding to take a different road. Steve had survived, but he might as well have died for the hole he left behind even with the closure they got with him. He had returned to reassure them that he was fine, but it was still another loss to see that he had lived a whole life without them and for him to leave again for someplace none of them could go.

If anyone understood the uniqueness of Rhodey’s loss, it was Sam, and maybe that was why it was easy for them to talk about this. They had lost the same people in the same way, as Avengers and as family. 

Sam took off the straw wrapper once their server came back with their drinks and played with it absentmindedly, trying to find the right words. “You know, I never was able to imagine what Steve went through even with the tours I’d been on, but I think I get it now. Five years is bad enough. I can’t say I blame him for wanting to go back especially…” he faltered. 

Rhodey’s throat felt tight, his heart skipping unpleasantly. “Yeah,” he managed to respond.

Rhodey didn’t want to talk about Steve Rogers. Didn’t want to talk about how unfair it was that Steve got to have a long, happy life, which some of them would never get to have and none of the survivors were guaranteed. Didn’t want to talk about how glad he was that Steve did after everything. About how angry he was because it wasn’t just Steve who fucking lost Natasha and Tony, whose lodestone was one or both of them, that it was him and Sam too. It was Barnes and Bruce, Tony’s family, Peter, everyone. How he got it because Steve didn’t have it in him to keep starting over and over and he was lucky because he found peace, but Rhodey and Sam were lucky too, even if it didn’t feel like it, because they had other people as support and Steve’s pillars were gone.

He didn’t want to talk about the new shield that Sam got, the implications behind its existence, the fact that he had seen that exact design in Tony’s files once, one bad night after the fight over the Accords when Tony had passed out in the lab and hadn’t closed the screen floating above his head. 

He should ask Sam about the shield. Sam was probably expecting it. He wanted to. 

_Are you ready for it? Do you want to be Captain America?_

He wanted to tell Sam that there was no better person to be the next Captain America. That Sam was the best person he knew. He was confident, the way he wasn’t about most things nowadays, that Sam had it in him to make the mantle his own, to be a leader who gave people hope and reassurance, who set an example of compassion and strength. 

He had no idea where to begin. He had no idea how to continue the conversation. 

It was the story of his life nowadays.

“Is it bad that I’m pissed at him even if I get why he did it?” Sam asked.

“No.” Rhodey hesitated before confessing something he had never said aloud. “Sometimes I get mad at Tony for leaving. It’s not fair, but it is at the same time because it might not be their fault, but it was their choice. If that even makes sense.” 

“It does.” Sam let out a tired laugh, sliding his hand down his face. “His choice to leave me with the shield too.” 

“There’s no better person to pass it on to. But it’s okay if you need time.” Their food arrived and Rhodey cut half of his omelette and placed it on Sam’s plate. Sam had a tendency to put way more ketchup on his eggs than he did. “It’s not really the same, but I waited even though Tony had a whole suit ready for me.”

“Yeah?” Sam perked up. “How’d you know when it was time?”

“I stole it from his lab and knocked him flat on his ass in it before jetting off.” 

Rhodey couldn’t help but grin as Sam gaped at him in surprise before shaking with laughter.

“Jim Rhodes!” Sam said, trying to sound scandalized and failing. “Sorry, _Lieutenant Colonel_ Rhodes. What would your mama say?”

“Mama Rhodes would say he deserved it for acting a fool. You remember the news after that birthday party. But Tony meant for me to take it and stop him anyway; I wouldn’t have been able to access it otherwise.” 

“He wanted you to look good.”

“Yeah. Sure made it an easier pill for people to swallow that there was another armored hero in town when an already loose cannon seemed out of control. Chose my own name though.” 

“Your own man,” Sam said approvingly. “War Machine is more badass anyway. Better name, better toys, and Air Force? Come on. Only time you dropped rankings in my book was when you went around calling yourself Iron Patriot.”

“Listen, Wilson. I didn’t choose the name.”

Sam waved his fork. “Don’t tell me about how it tested well with groups. You’re a superhero, not a cereal brand.” 

“Well, I was going to say that the point is, I became War Machine when I had to step up to the plate. At some point, you’ll feel like you have to too because the time is right for you to, whether you feel ready or not. Maybe you won’t, not fully, but you will be.”

“I try telling myself that, but you know.” Sam tapped his temple. “Brain doesn’t get with the program sometimes no matter how much logic you throw at it.”

“Then tell yourself something that sticks. You need someone, I’ll be there. I got your back. You know that much is true.” Rhodey softened his voice. “Sam, you have me no matter what. That’s never changed, and it won’t once you become Cap if that’s what you want.”

They hadn’t had a chance to talk about this, the tentative steps they had taken towards each other before everything went sideways with the Accords. And then there had been no time to talk about it when Thanos’s cronies showed up and no time to say anything when Sam had turned to ash in a matter of seconds, somewhere where Rhodey couldn’t see him. He had no idea how Sam had died. If he had been alone. If he had been in pain.

But what he said was true and had always been no matter what they were to each other. It had been since they met.

“I know,” Sam acknowledged. He poked at his pancakes with his fork, moving the syrup-drenched pieces he cut around on his plate before speaking again. “My mom told me you checked in on her and the family while I was gone.”

“You been down there yet?”

“I went straight there after everything, but I didn’t want to stay too long. Figured I needed to sort things out here before it got any more complicated than it already is. But I call home everyday, and they’ve been asking when you’re coming by.” 

“I do miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Well, next time I head down, you can come with me. I’ll give you a heads-up, so you can free up your calendar and go on a fast because now that I’m back, she’s going to give both of us enough food for fifty people. It’s like she thinks I was starving those whole five years.”

Rhodey snorted. “She’s been doing that pretty much every time I’ve gone. Your aunt Monica said that’s just normal.”

“You met Monica? Now this I got to hear. Did she tell you about the time I jumped from a tree trying to fly and knocked my teeth out? Because that’s her favorite story and it’s a lie,” Sam insisted and soon Rhodey found himself recounting stories about his visits, filling Sam in on everything he had missed. Births and graduations and random stories in between about nothing that Sam latched onto eagerly. 

The conversation continued to flow easily, and they stayed seated even as the rest of their food was packaged to go and they had paid the bill. The diner was getting louder, people crowding into booths and tables and waiting in the front to get seated as they neared noon. 

“It’s probably time to head out,” Rhodey said, and while that usually came as a relief these days, he was reluctant to part with Sam. It had been so long since he could breathe, to not pretend everything was fine but actually be fine and be like everyone else however briefly. He wanted to ask Sam to stay a little longer, but it would be unfair especially when he was struggling; already, he could see the grief moving in, dark clouds at the far-off horizon, staying put for now at a safe enough distance but still visible. He couldn’t ask Sam to fly through that storm with him when Sam had his own struggles to deal with. “We should do this again soon. It was nice catching up,” he settled on saying because it was safe.

Sam slipped on his jacket, grabbing the bag of leftovers. “It was.” He paused, twisting the plastic hand loops of the bag but not raising it from the table. “You know, you still owe me for our last race,” he said slowly.

Rhodey blinked at the non-sequitur. “What?”

“As I recall, I beat you _and_ beat your record,” Sam said, and a memory slotted into Rhodey’s mind, Sam whooping loudly above him, circling his head to be obnoxious. All Rhodey had been able to think of then was how he wanted to kiss him, smug look and all. He had a thing for showoffs—especially ones that flew as well as Sam did. 

“You remember what we bet on?” 

“Nah. But if I can cash in that win, we can grab coffee. See how things go, and maybe I can see your record collection. Mine’s all gone now.”

“Sammy.” 

It had been a long, long time since he called Sam that.

He didn't think they were going to talk about this today. Didn’t, in fact, know if he would bring it up anytime soon, he could admit to himself. They hadn’t had much of anything before. No hookup or talks about anything serious. Just that one time they held hands here seven years ago and a conversation that got interrupted the few times they had tried to broach the subject.

Sam looked up at the nickname. “Is that a yes?” Hope warred with hesitance, and it occurred to Rhodey that he wasn’t alone in this. Sam was going through the same thing as he was and wasn’t letting him walk away because he recognized that. 

This was him saying it went both ways; if he had Rhodey, then Rhodey had him even if they didn’t know what this was yet. Even if neither of them were okay. 

That was true, but it was equally true that they might be okay one day too. Even if it took a while to get there, as long as they took whatever they had with each other along with them, they might be able to ride out the rough winds and make it to the other side. He trusted Sam to keep him safe and Sam’s trust in him.

“Yeah, Sammy,” he said because of that. “It is.”

And this time, when he held Sam’s hand, he didn’t let go.


End file.
